


A house is not a home; a cat is not a boyfriend

by MisconductandMimosas



Series: A house is not a home [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Closeted Character, Concussions, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 22:41:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6539443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisconductandMimosas/pseuds/MisconductandMimosas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was the appropriate amount of success that would make it okay for Kent to be the first open queer NHL player? Was there a scale somewhere that could show him the number of accomplishments that he needed to balance it out?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A house is not a home; a cat is not a boyfriend

Kent Parson was not one for dramatics- or at least, on the ice, there was no record of him getting an embellishment penalty. He liked to think that he carried the same principles off the ice but - well, his track record spoke for itself so maybe this wasn’t the best example.

Moaning, Kent pressed his face against his pillow and tried to gather his thoughts- again- for the third time in the past hour- without his head pounding.

It didn’t work.

He took a deep breath, waited for peewee team in his brain to stop hitting their sticks against his mind, and tried a fourth time.

The Aces had been spoiled since Kent came to Vegas. That wasn’t saying they did not work their collective asses off or that they didn’t deserve their silver. It just meant that ever since the first Stanley Cup- ever since Kent- the playoffs were just expected. Maybe not Red Wings-style of expectation but still- Vegas in the playoffs? In a city that made itself on the odds- those were some good ones.

Granted, those numbers might have tilted sour with the unexpected concussion that had Kent wincing on his bed in the dark. No music, no television- in fact- no electronics at all. Not that it mattered since his team was on a road trip up north- too busy experiencing a true playoff push to entertain their captain.

And maybe situations like those called for some dramatics. Like pushing all of the blankets and sheets off of his bed so he was just lying on a mattress pad with a single pillow.

Kent opened his eyes and gave a little mental cheer when the peeking light around his blackout curtains didn’t cause the peewee mind team to revolt. So what if he still had to block the tiny green lights on his wifi router using the season 2 of Buffy DVD boxset? He could handle a tiny strip of sunlight! Look out, playoffs, Kent Parson is on the - oh fuck-

He shut his eyes again but the shift on the mattress hadn’t been his imagination- Kit had hopped up on his bed. He could feel the dip as she made her way up to his head and he let out a groan when she nudged against it.

“Kit-” he breathed. “Please-” he froze. Kit kept up her series of gentle buntings against his head and Kent whimpered- hoping it would sound pathetic enough that she would stop. She didn’t though- of course she didn’t- Kit was a damn cat. She didn’t know. She was completely unaware of the agony that rose up in his skull whenever she meowed and nudged against his head.

When Richie’s foot was broken, his girlfriend, an engineering PHD candidate at ULV, built him a wheely stool. She immediately regretted giving him that power but it still had happened. Even their rookie’s high school sweetheart came down when he was flattened to the ice during a particularly rough shift.

John had been adorably bashful about the whole incident. He hadn’t even been hurt- not even taken out for a single game but Cait had seen the hit and flew down immediately.

His team had been stopping by, the trainers too- at least twice a day. But it’s not the same as having someone with him, holding him through the pain.

The last person who had held Kent through anything was a one-night stand and there was only holding so Kent didn’t fall off of the bed. Kent highly doubted his one-night stand was going to show up to offer comfort during his time of need.

For one- Kent had kept his identity a secret the whole time- he had made sure of it.

Secondly- well, the one night stand had also been male. So. There’s that. Couldn’t really have a boy around with trainers stopping by every few hours.

As much as he swore Kit was his family and the one-and-only partner for him- Kit was very much a cat who, like most (all) cats, didn’t understand concussion symptoms and care. It hurt Kent more than he wanted to admit.

Kit jumped off the bed and Kent swore on relief. At least- until another noise came from the front of his house that explained why she abandoned him in the first place.

“Hey there, Princess.” A voice whispered. “You being good to the captain?” It took Kent a minute to recognize the voice of one of his A’s.

“Richie?” He whispered as loud as he could.

The door to his bedroom was pushed open but no more light filtered inside. The lights in the main house hadn’t been turned on since his diagnosis. “Yeah, Parsley- it’s me.” Richie murmured, setting something down next to the bed.

Had he lost that much time? The last game of the road trip wasn’t until Thursday- last Kent checked, it had still only Monday.

“Why are you here?”

“That’s the thanks I get, cap?” Even Richie’s soft laughter had Kent on edge. “Jeez, did you run a fever or something during the night? Why is everything on the floor, Parse?”

“Not you too?” He asked desperately. An A and the C out during the final weeks leading up to the playoffs? Kent trusted his team- he DID but that didn’t mean he didn’t want them to have all the support that they deserved.

“It’s just precautionary,” Richie swore from somewhere near Kent’s nightstand. “I tweaked my knee. I’ll be back in by the end of the week. It was just best to stay here and rest it.”

Kent wasn’t going to argue. Or, he couldn’t argue, really. Not without making the peewee team revolt. “You left our team in the hands of Jean-Pierre?” It was only a partial joke.

“He’s your other A for a reason, right?” Richie sighed, as if he knew what Kent was thinking. He might.

“No, it’s cause I lost a bet,” he lied grumpily.

“Kent Parson doesn’t lose.”

Kent ignored that too. He didn’t want to touch it. His irritated temper wanted to fight battles that his brain couldn’t handle. He felt the bed move again. Too light to be Richie- it was Kit again.

“Richie.” Kent stopped himself. His already shut eyelids formed even more wrinkles as he scrunched up his face- not in physical pain but-

“Whoa- What is it, Parse?” Richie asked quickly. His voice was closer now, more concerned. Kent was glad his eyes were closed. He didn’t want to see the look on his A’s face.

“I need you to take Kit.”

“You’re not dying, Kent,” Richie said dryly, sounding a little relieved. “Besides, Jeffers has dibs on Kit if you do end up in some fatal hockey incident. I’ll make sure that your tombstone has the goalie’s scrum quote on it. Here lies Parse, he couldn’t stay out of the damn crease. Whose crease? Literally anyone’s- pick a goalie- it was Parson.”

“Richie-” Kent croaked. Laughing hurt but it wasn’t his teammate that had pain slamming through his brain. “Richie,” he tried again.

“What is it, Kent?” Richie’s voice was closer again now but it was soft, blessedly so.

“You have to take Kit.” It was even harder to get out the second time around.

“What are you talking about, cap? She’s not good enough company for you?” There was a chirrup of a purr that came from the direction of Kent’s legs- Richie must have reached out to pet her.

“She’s- my head- I.” Kent couldn’t-

“Aw, kid.” Richie murmured and the weight of Kit lifted off of the bed. “I got you. Don’t worry about it. It’s taken care of.”

“Richie-”

“I got it, Parse. Princess will be in good hands.”

“Thank you,” Kent whispered. He wondered if Richie had ever seen him cry. He didn’t want to start that now but he was close to begging for Kit to stay. For Richie or anyone else on the team, even Jean-Pierre, to move in just so he wouldn’t be alone.

Could Kent start a Match.com profile specifically to look for a boyfriend who could take care of him? Well, maybe that would have worked if he could even look at a bright screen for more than two seconds. Then the media could blame the Aces slump on his sexuality instead of just him & his concussion. That would definitely make him feel better.

He thought back to his last cup win. Vegas was a dynasty and Kent was at the helm. He could do no wrong for months and wasted his chance to come out when the backlash would have been minimal. Well, maybe not minimal but he certainly wouldn’t have been contending with the negative wildcard race stories in the press. Jesus- what did that mean for him? Did he have to wait until they won another cup to come out? The Art Ross? The division? What was the appropriate amount of success that would make it okay for Kent to be the first open queer NHL player? Was there a scale somewhere that could show him the number of accomplishments that he needed to balance it out?

“Maybe I’ll hire you a stripper nurse,” Richie kept up his joke low, meant mostly for himself. Kent froze but he knew he hadn’t been talking out loud. His head would have hurt even more. “What do you think, Princess? A nurse to keep your boy company while he’s not feeling well?”

Kent was exhausted- it was like his brain had been on the ice for hours and hadn’t even accomplished anything. It wasn’t an excuse for what came out of his mouth. He was dozing but too in pain to be almost asleep. Still- it was definitely a concussion decision.

He took a breath and into his pillow mumbled- “As long as he’s a cute nurse.”

There was a terrifying moment of silence but then a single one of his A’s giant hands stroked his hair. “Sure thing, only the best for our captain,” Richie whispered. Kent may be concussed but he didn’t miss the emphasis on the “our.”

Kent exhaled- for the first time in four days, his brain’s peewee team marginally let up.

“The trainers will be over in a few hours. Call me if you need anything- got it?” Richie asked quietly.

“Just take care of my baby,” Kent said, his face still pushed into his pillow.

“Anything, captain.”


End file.
